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POEM 

AT THE CELEBRATION OF 

THE TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIFTH 

ANNIVERSARY OF THE FOUNDING 

OF CAMBRIDGE 

Sanders Theatre, Dec. 21, 1905 

BY 

WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER 



[Reprinted from Proceedings of The Cambridge 
Historical Society, I] 



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POEM OF WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER 
CAMBRIDGE: 1630-1905. 

I. The Founders. 

As when, amid the heats of prime, 
We pause, and backward look on Youth, 
Swift as a flash the sweet May time 
Comes with its visions : again Truth, 
The ideal, sets our hearts on fire. 
Whispers Renounce! Pursue! Desir^f 
Still loveliest when she bids Aspire ! 
And in the recover'd bloom and glow 
Of the enchanted Long Ago, 
We count the gains our hands have wrought. 
The knowledge that the years have taught, 
And rate them dim and scant and few 
Beside those visions that we knew 
When all our world was dawn and dew. 

So in thy haunts, beloved Town, 
Thy Past will fling its challenge down 
Like Youth's remember'd dream : it asks, 
" How have ye sons fulfiU'd your tasks? 
The soil ye had — the seed — the way, 
What harvest do ye reap to-day? " 
And well it is that we give heed, 
And test us by their word aud deed. 



44 THE CAMBEIDGE HISTORICAL SOCIETY [Dec. 

The hearts they bred in Cambridge held 
The virtues of those days of eld : 
Narrow it may be, stern and grim, 
Yet bas'd on principle, not whim ; 
Lofty as hope and deep as faith. 
And stronger than the might of Death, 
And firm enough on which to build 
Town, state, or nation, as God will'd. 
Religion, learning, civic life, 
To drive, not drift — to be, not seem — 
At God's command to enter strife — 
These were their aims, few but supreme. 

We, sapp'd by dubious modern ease, 
Pity the Founders on their knees ; 
Unmindful of the endless gain. 
We overstress the fleeting pain, — 
Their sighs for friends and pleasures left, 
Their fight with famine, cold and thirst, 
Mere fugitives, despis'd, bereft, 
Amid a wilderness accurst. 
Bereft? Upon that forest hem 
Jehovah gave his sign to them ! 
Along the lonely Charles they heard 
The Prophets speak Redemption's word ! 

Here David's loud hosannas rang, 
Here Calvin preached and Milton sang ! 
For them the actual barren scene 
Was but a phantom Palestine — 
A stage where they were doom'd to play 
Sin's drama, in the Jewish way. 
The hosts of Heaven and hordes of Hell 
Watch'd ev'ry act of ev'ry soul. 
As if that single choice might knell 
Bliss or perdition for the whole. 

God's gladiators, they would scorn 
Our pity, pitying us instead. 
Would deem us languid creatures, born 
Too late to know how heart and head 
In holy vehemence can wed ; 



1905.] POEM OF WILLIAM KOSCOE THAYER 45 

Too dull or passionless to feel 
Faith's perfect, incandescent zeal ; 
Too blind to see the Lord on high 
Look down and judge humanity, 
As thro' a window in the sky. 



II. The Inheritance. 

Such were the Founders when they planted here 
The home that we inherit, title clear. 
Not empire, loot nor commerce urged their quest, 
But the one reason, elemental, best, 
That man shall have untrammel'd ways to God, 
Which if he have not, man remains a clod. 



This be their praise, thro' all the years to come — 
What was a wilderness they made a home, 
A home, the surest masterpiece of man ! 
Statesmen may scheme and conquerors may plan, 
Their craft will fail, their legion'd power fade, 
Unless upon that rock their trust be laid. 
That is the cornerstone whereon mankind, 
Building tow'rds Heaven, have left the beast behind; 
Harm that, the beast returns. The Founders show'd 
How rudest hemlock huts could be the abode 
Of holy love that shunneth palaces — 
The shrine of life-long sweetest privacies — 
The altar to whose flame Self hourly brings 
Its joyful sacrifice — the sacred springs 
Of x-irtues and affections that control 
Our hearts thro' life, and keep them pure and whole. 

Now thrice three generations testify 
The Founders builded well : we pass and die, 
But Cambridge keeps her glory as at first : 
Here men are neighbors ; here are nurst 
Clean hearts, clear heads and wills inviolate. 
Spurr'd by this migrant age men gad and roam. 
Here let them learn the meaning of a home, 
Bohemians, nomads never rear'd a state. 



46 THE CAMBEIDGE HISTOEICAL SOCIETY [Dec 

On this, our heart-free Feast of Gratitude, 
Unto the Past be all our thanks renewed : 
First, to the Founders ; next, to ev'ry son 
Who by his shining work or nature won 
A nobler living for the common share ; 
Poets who prov'd that the diviner air 
Of Poesy is here ; the patriots true 

Who with their conscience kept strict rendezvous ; 

Citizens, scholars, preachers — all who gave 

Their souls for service — best, the women brave. 

And we rejoice that many issues vast 

Have touch'd our life, that here have pass'd 

Events that shook the world ; and dear we hold, 

In pride and satisfactions manifold. 

The College, eldest daughter of the Town, 

Harvard, who sheds on Cambridge her renown. 

Nations are wreck'd, and empires melt away ; 

Creeds rise and vanish ; customs last their day ; 

Change seems the end of all ; Time's current sweeps 

Eesistless, roaring, tow'rds the unknown deeps : 

But like an island in the rapids set 

The College stands; in vain the waters fret 

Around her precinct consecrate to Truth ; 

She has the strength of ages and the youth 

Of wisdom ; free from sordid interest. 

Her mission is to know and teach the best — 

Not what men wish to hear, but what is true — 

To guard the old, to greet and search the new. 

O, rare our lot, and wonder-rich the dower 
The Fates beyond desert upon us shower ! 
With gratitude, the coin of noble hearts, 
Here would we honor those who made our parts 
So pleasant — nameless benefactors gone, 
Who truly liv'd, not to themselves alone. 

III. Our Covenant. 

The Past brings its gifts, and we take, for we may not refuse ; 
Or bitter or sweet, they have fallen unearn'd to our lot ; 
The bitter to be as a cordial draught, if we choose, 



1905.] EEMARKS OF THE CHAIRMAN 47 

The sweet to be sweeter for sharing with them that have not. 

But woe unto them that would make but a brag of the Past, 

Accepting its gifts like a hoard they have license to spend ; 

Untrue to their promise, the hopes of the race they would blast ; 

A mock to the wise they shall live, and in shame they shall end. 

But he that awakes to a hallowing sense of the due 

We owe to our brothers and helpers that wrought and are dead — 

The builders of states that were free, the sages that knew. 

The prophets that boldly bore witness, the martyrs that bled. 

And they who bring joy without blemish, magicians of Art, 

Revealers of Beauty and Love, that impassion the soul — 

He thrills with the rush of a torrent of thanks in his heart, 

But blushes that he, the unworthy, inherits the whole. 

So much, overmuch! to receive from the givers unknown, 

Now sunk out of Time beyond reach of his gratitude's call ! 

They taught him the Knowledge supreme, and he turns to his own, 

To pay in his service to them what he owes unto all. 

Ah, little avails it to garland the Past of our Town, 
If pride be not chasten'd by thought of the duties unpaid : 
The trust that the Fathers in piety handed us down 
Have we loyally guarded, unharm'd, or diminish'd, betray'd? 
Religion they gave — do we cherish the things that endure ? 
Do we estimate learning more precious than comfort or gold ? 
Has self left the citizen single in purpose and pure? 
And over our prosperous homes breathes the spirit of old? 
Not merely to guard unimpair'd is enough, but to add — 
Since treasure of character surely must dwindle, or grow — 
To add of our own, of our best, to uplift and make glad 
The hearts of our Kin in that future we never shall know. 
And this we resolve : we will mingle our more to the less — 
The Past thro' our wills as a far-shedding glory shall shine — 
Dear Town, that hast blest us as only a mother can bless, 
We pledge thee anew our devotion ! Our best shall be thine ! 



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